


..and back out again.

by Lamamu



Series: Midam ramblings [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Universe, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Adam Milligan, Pining Michael, Post-Cage, Protective Michael, midam, pining adam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 22:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16504304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamamu/pseuds/Lamamu
Summary: The aftermath of Adam's little foray into self harm and despair.





	..and back out again.

It didn’t take much. Adam wrapped a dishrag around his hand and forearm in an attempt to stem the bleeding, wincing in pain now that he had snapped out of the fugue state he’d fallen into. He wasn’t stupid though, he knew without having to even look closely that he was going to need stitches...and there was no way he’d be able to do it himself.

“You need that fucking hand you idiot.”

The self flagellation went on, ranging from cursing his own existence, to glaring angrily at the glass and right back to the self loathing he was constantly directing at himself.

_ “...douchebag.” _

Not once did he curse Michael. In fact, Adam deliberately kept his mind focused on stopping the blood flow while he waited on the footpath for the cab he’d called and away from thoughts about the archangel.

He’d briefly considered calling for him, he ached to just reach out and pray to him. But that would risk the archangel showing up and seeing the mess Adam had become...and that was the last thing he wanted. Adam didn’t /want/ Michael to see him like this, but at the same time he yearned for his presence like he yearned for air.

It was a horrible seesaw of emotion that he couldn’t deal with… and so, instead of asking for help, the blonde stubbornly refused. Even if they were on better terms, Michael wasn’t at his beck and call, and Adam wouldn’t expect him to drop everything just to heal a tiny cut.

_Tiny.. keep telling yourself that._

Okay, there was nothing tiny about the cut, and as Adam walked through the doors to the emergency room where he worked, he tried not to think about the severed muscle in his hand and the scarring.. And if he’d done himself out of a career with his careless act.

Not that he did it deliberately.. 

Oh hell, the first one had been an accident. The rest was on him.

“Hey Milligan, aren’t you on leave?”

Adam heard the voice of one of his coworkers and sighed in relief, grateful that it wasn’t the n u r s e he’d bumped into first.

“Uh, yeah.. Hey Jones..”

Shit.. he hadn’t worked out what he was going to say yet.

“I had an, uh.. Accident while I was renovating.. and I’m going to need stitches.”

Holding up his dirty, blood covered dishrag, Adam shrugged apologetically at Pete Jones and gave him a wry grin, grunting when the other took hold of his upper arm and led him into an examination bay so he could examine the damage Adam had done.

Pete washed his hands, snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and peeled off the cloth.

“....Jesus _Christ_.”

“It didn’t hurt at the time but...ah.! Fuck.”

He glanced at Adam out of the corner of his eye but said nothing, accepting the blonde’s word that it was what it was.

“Yeah.. the palm is going to take the.. Damn, Adam. You better hope nothing vital got cut or you’re going to be out of action for a while as far as surgery goes.”

Adam dug his other hand into the hospital bed he was perched on as the Pete dug around in his hand. He knew he had to keep still, but now that all his pain receptors were fired up, everything just.. Hurt. But at least the bleeding had stopped.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

Pete disappeared, and Adam swung his legs up onto the bed, pushing himself back into a comfortable position. He was grateful to have resisted the urge to wipe himself out with alcohol so far. The glass he’d smashed had been his first for the day.

This was okay, it was going to be okay.

He didn’t resist when Pete jabbed his arm full of anaesthetic, and watched with interest as his own flesh was sewn back together. It was strange, watching the needle pass back and forth from this side of the fence, and his critical surgeon’s eye couldn’t find fault with Pete’s technique. The man had a steady hand, and from what Adam could see, he’d barely have scarring on his forearm... His hand though, that required more of Pete's time, and he could tell by the frown on the man's face that it was bad.

They kept up some idle chatter now and then, but Adam was too drained to put much effort into the conversation. He was just so damn tired, and he very nearly accepted the offer to be kept in for the night.. But all he really wanted was to be alone.

Nobody would see him break down if he was alone. Nobody would see the insomnia that plagued him if he was alone.

Pete accepted Adam’s decision with a nod, and filled out the paperwork, handing it over for Adam to sign and once that was done, he was soon on his way back home again with a pocket full of painkillers for when the numbness wore off… He took two of the strongest ones in the cab, and by the time he got home he was already starting to get that dopey, content feeling that came with a dose of morphine.

“Hey cat.. Aren’t _you_ a cutie..”

Vovina mewed, her tiny voice reaching Adam’s ears and he bent down to scratch her back, marvelling at how much her condition had improved since he’d taken her in. Her pale orange fur was shiny where before it was dull, and he could no longer feel her ribs or her spine when he ran his hand along her tiny body.

Humming to himself, Adam kicked off his shoes and changed into his favourite pair of Darth Vader pyjama pants. He struggled out of his jacket and shirt and into a tank top, and shortly his trim, (yet now too thin) form was slouching comfortably in a nest of pillows with a couple of comic books in held loosely in his good hand. 

For once, the buzzing in his mind wasn’t full of turmoil, anger and sadness.

Adam opened the first book and frowned in confusion when a card slipped out of the pages and into his lap. He picked it up, turned it over to read what was on the printed side and snorted when he read the title.

_ ‘Prayer for the Archangel Michael.’ _

This is what happened when you bought your comic books at a thrift store run by a church.

Oh, if only they knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Heheeee.
> 
> The next one is a little bit naughty...


End file.
